[There is another reason, he supposes, for the deception. Later tonight or later tomorrow, these days will feel like nothing more than minutes. A blip of snow. He'd even be surprised if his teacher remembered it at all, or anything more than the faint build up of snow, out of season.
But those sound like justifications, somewhere deep down in a place he supposes might count as a conscience. And he still hasn't sounded concerned for his teacher. At all, actually. Perhaps he gives him too much credit. Perhaps he supposes the concern is unwarranted. Perhaps perhaps perhaps. It still doesn't change what he didn't say, and what he'll continue to not say.
He continues on, following the thread of conversation and unaware of the growing ball of yarn behind it, in which he'll inevitably be entangled.]
They refused to stay down for very long, it's true. Vicious little things, too.
no subject
But those sound like justifications, somewhere deep down in a place he supposes might count as a conscience. And he still hasn't sounded concerned for his teacher. At all, actually. Perhaps he gives him too much credit. Perhaps he supposes the concern is unwarranted. Perhaps perhaps perhaps. It still doesn't change what he didn't say, and what he'll continue to not say.
He continues on, following the thread of conversation and unaware of the growing ball of yarn behind it, in which he'll inevitably be entangled.]
They refused to stay down for very long, it's true. Vicious little things, too.